


OZPN 96.7 FM

by yangsbandana



Category: RWBY
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, College Radio AU, F/F, Smut Eventually, light angst i guess, the bees do radio, um, weiss and ruby are there sometimes too, wtf do i tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:35:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28409334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yangsbandana/pseuds/yangsbandana
Summary: Blake turns to the soundboard and slides the song’s volume down, turning up the mic’s. She takes a breath and conjures her radio voice, low and resonant in her throat.“Hey there. You are listening to Nightshade on OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio….”OrThe Bumbleby college radio AU no one asked for.
Relationships: Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long
Comments: 63
Kudos: 175





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally wrote some bees! hope it's at least half as much fun for you to read as it's been to write so far. thanks to my partner for inspiring the idea and for catching most of my weird phrasing and errors. <3

Blake knows she’s too early as she scans her school ID against the card reader. Her show doesn’t start for another fifteen minutes. Still, it’s a new studio space to get used to, so it can’t hurt to acquaint herself with the new setting. As she steps into the cramped lobby, she’s immediately hit with the musty smell of aged paper and fabric. The lobby is empty, just as she had expected, but she sees a light down the hall indicating that someone in the studio is on the air.

Sun, she remembers, was slated to host the show before hers. She makes a face to herself as she carefully closes the door behind her. She appreciates Sun for introducing her the group of students running the college radio station at Beacon, and she enjoys his company in limited amounts, but she suspects that his obvious crush on her might make the transitions between their shows uncomfortable.

She brushes the thought away with a sigh and begins to survey the space. The walls are plastered with stickers, concert posters, and flyers, their muted colors betraying their age. Two mismatched, ratty couches sit across from each other, the cushions faded and threadbare. A coat and backpack have been tossed haphazardly on one of the couches, and someone has left precarious stack of CDs next to a half-drunk mug of cold tea on a worn side table. The room feels messy. Disordered. Almost grimy.

Blake loves it.

For the first time since transferring from Menagerie U, she feels at home. The student-run WFNG radio station there was a bit bigger than this. Maybe a bit cleaner, too. But Blake can sense that the students who run this place share the same kind of unrestrained, earnest love for what they do.

She wanders down the narrow hallway toward the studio, poking her head into a darkened room on the left. Flicking on the light, she finds shelves and shelves rising against the low ceiling, packed with CDs and records. Grinning, she steps forward to peruse the collection, running her fingers along the soft, worn cardboard edges of the record covers. She spends the next few minutes casually searching through the station’s holdings, making mental notes of what she might want to play during her show in the weeks ahead.

After she’s made a lap through the library, she checks her phone. Almost time.

Blake makes her way out of the room and down to the end of the hall, where the door to the studio awaits. As she approaches, she hears the music Sun is playing through the door. She pauses to pay attention to the song, and she raises her eyebrows, curious. The driving pop-punk sound doesn’t strike her as being in line with Sun’s tastes, though she can’t say she knows him all that well after only a few weeks.

Maybe he’d surprise her yet.

But when she quietly opens the door, the first thing she notices is that the host is not Sun at all. Not even close. Seated at the soundboard is a woman, as far as Blake can tell. The woman has her back to her, so all Blake can see are gorgeous waves of long blonde hair flowing like molten gold from underneath a black snapback cap. She doesn’t turn to look at Blake, but she holds up a hand to acknowledge her presence, still bobbing her head in time to the aggressive drumbeat of a song that Blake recognizes but can’t name. It’s not really Blake’s thing, but she can’t help but nod along—the woman’s enthusiasm is infectious.

“One of my favorites,” the woman raves as the song comes to an end, pulling the mic toward her. “But with that, it’s already ten o’ clock! Guess time really does fly when you’re having fun. So, for the last time this hour, you are listening to Total Yangers at OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. This is DJ Yang XL signing off with one final yanger to get get you goin’ this Friday night!”

As an upbeat guitar riff begins to play, _DJ Yang XL_ removes her headphones, fiddles with the volume levels on the soundboard, and lifts the microphone before spinning around in the chair to face Blake.

“Do you think that’s too much? I’m still working on my sign-off.”

“I, uh….” Blake’s mouth falls open as the woman’s lilac eyes find hers. _Fuck_. It’s not only her hair that’s striking. She’s flashing a dazzling grin, watching Blake expectantly.

Blake swallows, finding her voice again. “Maybe? What’s a ‘yanger?’”

The woman throws back her head and lets out a bright, wild laugh.

“Come on! You know, it’s like a song that’s a banger! But like, with my name!”

She takes off her cap and runs her fingers through her hair as she looks back to Blake.

“I’m Yang, by the way. Yang Xiao Long.” She stands— _she’s tall_ —and walks around the desk between them, holding out her hand.

Blake takes it.

“Blake Belladonna.”

“Wow,” Yang says, raising her eyebrows. “That’s kind of—uh—I like it. It suits you.”

“Thanks.”

They stand for a moment in awkward silence, hands still clasped as the last song of Yang’s show plays in the background.

“Oh, shit!” Yang exclaims, eyes widening. Breaking the tension between them, she drops Blake’s hand and shuffles around her in the tight space, gently pushing her toward the chair and soundboard. “I forgot how short this song is. I hope you’re ready—we wanna avoid dead air.”

“I know that,” Blake bristles, stepping around the desk and pulling her backpack from her shoulder. “I might be new here, but this isn’t my first show.” She slips her laptop out of her backpack, and sets it on the desk beside her before putting on the set of headphones Yang had just been wearing. She adjusts the microphone with one hand while her other hand finds the fader for the mic.

Yang gives Blake a thumbs-up, indicating that the song is about to end. Blake nods, and Yang mouths ‘ _good luck_ ,’ stepping toward the door. Blake turns to the soundboard and slides the song’s volume down, while turning up the mic’s. She takes a breath and conjures her radio voice, low and resonant in her throat.

“Hey there. You are listening to Nightshade on OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. I’m your host, Blake, and tonight I’ll be taking you through some tracks to help you kick back and relax. So whether you’re feeling low or getting high, I’ve got just the thing you need.”

While she speaks, Blake finds the cable to connect her laptop, plugging it in. She selects the first song on her playlist and presses play, slowly increasing the volume so that the opening notes pulse beneath her voice.

When she’s finished her spiel, she turns up the volume and mutes the mic. As she does, she senses Yang’s presence still hovering at the doorway of the studio space. She tugs the headphones down so that they rest around her neck and looks up to find Yang staring, mouth half open.

“Oh, sorry,” she says, cheeks reddening underneath a smattering of freckles. “It’s just… your voice…. It’s, uh… it’s really nice.”

She clears her throat. “No DJ name, though?” she continues, playful humor returning to her tone. “No fun.”

“I thought you said my name suited me,” Blake counters.

“Well, yeah! But it’s kinda fun to have an alter ego, too y’know?”

Blake quirks an eyebrow. “An _alter ego,_ huh? Isn’t yours just your first name and your initials?”

“Hey!” Yang grins. “Not my fault I have such a cool name.”

Blake can’t help it. She smiles and rolls her eyes.

“It was nice meeting you, _DJ Yang XL._ ”

Yang laughs. “Okay, I see how it is. Nice to meet you, too, _Blake Belladonna._ ”

It’s Blake’s turn to blush as Yang winks at her, tapping on the door frame.

“Have a good show. See you next week?”

“Yeah,” Blake nods. “Next week.”

Yang departs with a jaunty wave, leaving Blake in her wake, a little shaken, a little breathless. What a whirlwind of a person.

When she’s gone, Blake leans back in the chair and sighs. She pulls the headphones back around her ears, and turns up her own volume. She lets the music seep into her, the singer’s voice, low and yearning, vibrating through her chest. She’s missed this. She hadn’t been sure that she would get the chance to have a radio show ever again after leaving Menagerie. But now, with the music enveloping her, she settles into a familiar feeling.

She pictures the building she’s sitting in from the outside, envisions the song she’s playing on the airwaves, traveling through the night, finding its way to anyone and everyone listening right now. 

She imagines it in the headphones of a student in the library desperately trying to finish an essay due at midnight. Or maybe droning out of someone’s phone as they smoke with their friends in a dorm room across campus.

The same song could be crooning over the car speakers of someone in Vale stuck at a red light. It could be gently playing from the radio as a young parent tries to soothe a mewling infant to sleep.

Maybe Yang’s listening, too, adjusting her earbuds as she strolls across campus, on her way to whatever cool party she’s certainly set to attend.

Maybe Blake’s the only one listening at all. 

She hums to herself as the song nears its conclusion, sitting up in the chair and maneuvering to the soundboard, preparing to transition to the next song. She works the sliders, finds her rhythm, settles in for a night to herself.

Just Blake, the music, and the thought of freckles and molten gold whispering in the back of her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! this fic is pretty loosely based on my own experiences with college radio, where i did a show for a few semesters. it's been a couple of years, though, so if you do radio stuff and you're like ???? about what i've written, that's probably why. i also wasn't really good at it. i could probably have researched radio stuff more for this fic, but i didn't want to!
> 
> i hope you stick around. there's more to come. i'm yangsbandana on both twitter and tumblr if you wanna hang.


	2. Chapter 2

Back at Menagerie U, Blake had looked forward to her show with Ilia every week. She enjoyed piecing together a playlist, mapping out the order of the songs, making notes about the things she would talk about with Ilia on air. It had been a way to exercise her creativity, providing a welcome escape, especially toward the end of her time at Menagerie. Her show had meant freedom, if only for just an hour every week.

Planning Nightshade for OZPN is different for many reasons, but Blake’s pleased to find that her excitement hasn’t waned. The feeling of freedom is still here, though it has different dimensions now. She appreciates that she can choose whatever music she wants without objections from a co-host (as much as she had enjoyed her partnership with Ilia, their tastes often clashed), and hosting the last show of the night on Friday gives her the option to stretch her time if she ever feels the need.

On Thursday afternoon she accompanies Sun to the station where he’s co-hosting a new show with Neptune. Blake wishes the boys good luck before slipping into studio’s music library, ready to lose herself over the next hour. She takes her time, pulling CDs from the shelf at a leisurely pace. Most are labeled with stickers marked with ratings and notes from members of the station. She notes OZPN co-president Weiss Schnee’s initials on multiple stickers, her neat, tiny handwriting ruthlessly tearing apart most of the albums she reviewed.

 _Hard to please,_ Blake thinks to herself, grimacing at a dismal review from Weiss on one of her own favorite albums: “Pretentious, pseudo-intellectual drivel that only a stoner could appreciate. And even then only when they’re extremely, extremely high. No indication of growth since their last album, either. Redundant. Derivative. Not worth my time or yours.”

Blake scoffs and adds the CD to the stack she’s compiling anyway. Maybe Weiss could stand to get _extremely, extremely high_ herself.

Ruby Rose, the other co-president, seems to enjoy reviewing albums a lot more than Weiss. Blake doesn’t find a single RR sticker-review marked with a grade lower than a B+. Her notes include instructive lines like “Wow!!!” and “Knocked my socks off!!!” and “Play this!!! You won’t regret it!!!” Blake saves a couple of them, though she’s not yet sure whether or not she can trust Ruby’s glowing praise.

Only a few of the CDs she picks up appear to be reviewed by Yang. A sticker-review written by YXL stands out against the cover of an EP she's been meaning to listen to, though a sharpie doodle of a black bird on a wire dominates most of the sticker. It’s actually a pretty good drawing in Blake’s estimation, but not particularly helpful. Yang justifies her B- rating in just two brief lines of bold handwriting: “Pretty mediocre. Track 3 kind of slaps though.”

Blake rolls her eyes but tucks the EP into the pile, making a mental note to pay attention to the third song when she plays it.

When she listens to it later, she finds that track three does, in fact, slap.

—~—

On Friday night Blake arrives early for her show again, but instead of lingering in the lobby and library she makes a beeline to the studio. She stands outside the door, listening to what Yang plays inside. It’s hip hop by the sound of it. Hip hop from twenty-five years ago. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips. She’s only met Yang once, but it somehow feels right that Yang’s tastes, and by extension her show, would be a little eclectic.

She lifts her hand to twist the doorknob but hesitates. Would Yang mind that she’s coming in early? Maybe she didn’t want to be bothered….

Blake chews her lower lip for a moment, considering. As much as she’s concerned about bothering Yang, something else in her, some underlying restlessness, compels her to head inside anyway.

So with a deep breath, Blake opens the door and steps through.

It turns out she didn’t need to be worried at all. The moment she walks into the studio space, Yang spins around in her chair to greet her.

“Look who it is!” she says, grinning ear to ear. She pulls the headphones down around her neck and scoots her chair forward toward the desk. “How you been, Blake Belladonna?”

“I’ve been doing all right,” Blake answers, leaning against the wall. “I hope I’m not too early?”

Yang waves a hand. “Not at all. Anyway, I don’t mind having company. This is actually my first semester hosting a show all by my lonesome.”

“Oh?” Blake says, thinking of Ilia.

“Yeah,” Yang replies. “Last year I had a show with my little sister where we played a lot of oldies our dad likes. Other stuff too. She’s busier this year though, with the whole… studio co-president thing.”

“Ruby’s your sister?” Blake asks. She has to assume that Yang isn’t talking about Weiss Schnee.

“Yeah! Half-sister. Same dad. I miss having her here with me, but it is what it is. She’s promised to co-host with me when she can, though. I miss the bantering.”

Blake nods in agreement.

“I had a co-host with my last show, too,” she shares. “She always had great insights about what we played. It took some getting used to last week not having her around. Just relying on my own thoughts.”

“Oh yeah?” Yang presses, leaning back in her chair. “I wouldn’t have guessed. I thought you sounded pretty good. Like a pro.”

Blake raises her eyebrows.

“You listened to my show?”

Yang’s easy grin slackens for a moment as if she’s been caught off-guard. But the moment passes, and Yang shakes out her mane of gold hair with a laugh.

“Sure I did. Couldn’t resist after your intro last week,” she says. “I wasn’t sure I’d be into a show that low key on a Friday night, but you surprised me. I listened the whole way through. Not gonna lie, though, some of those lyrics were hard to pick up on. Maybe I’m just not as sharp as you are.”

Warmth rises to Blake’s cheeks.

“I mean, it’s not really about picking up on all the words or even their meanings,” she says with a nervous laugh. “It’s more about the feelings they evoke, I think.”

“Ah, yeah.” Yang nods sagely. “I understand. It’s really about the _vibes._ ”

Blake cocks her head, unsure if Yang is making fun of her. She doesn’t get a chance to find out, though, as the song Yang’s playing comes to an end.

Yang swivels around in her chair, tugging the headphones back over her ears as she adjusts the faders and leans toward the microphone.

“I hope you all are enjoying kickin’ it with me old school tonight!” Yang crows into the mic. “We have time for one more this evening, so I hope you enjoy. And after we’re done here, I hope you stick around for my buddy Blake’s show—” she turns to Blake and makes a desperate motion with her hand.

“Nightshade,” Blake whispers loudly.

“Nightshade!” Yang blurts into the microphone, and Blake has to hold back a laugh.

“You’ll like it, I swear,” she continues. “Definitely a different vibe. Kind of more chill. Probably smarter. But still really, uh… really good.”

Blake can’t suppress a grin as she watches Yang flounder at the mic. Even when she’s thrown off-kilter, she’s charming.

“Anyway,” Yang recovers, “you are listening to OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. This is DJ Yang XL with Total Yangers signing off and telling you to kick off your weekend with a Yang!”

Yang works the soundboard as the final song of her show begins to play over the speakers. When she’s finished, she slumps in her seat and lets out a long breath, turning toward Blake again.

“Oof, that was rough.” She runs her fingers through her hair again. “Sorry you had to see that.”

Blake shakes her head with a laugh. “Still working on that outro, huh?”

“Look,” Yang huffs, a smile returning to her lips. “I’m just a bit off my rhythm lately. I’m actually a natural at this.”

Blake hums and shrugs off her backpack, pulling out her laptop as well as some of the CDs she’s chosen to play from during her show.

“I’ll believe that when I see it.”

“Wow,” Yang says, grinning now. “I plugged your show and everything and this is how you repay me? You wound me, Blake Belladonna.”

She feigns a pained expression, hand clutching dramatically at her sternum as if she’d been stabbed in the heart.

Before Blake can stop it, a giggle spills from from her lips.

“You are _very_ expressive,” she concedes. “ I’ll give you that.”

“I’ll take it.”

Yang stands and stretches her arms high above her head before moving to gather her things, making room for Blake to take her seat at the soundboard. Blake takes her place and begins to prepare for the transition into her show, queuing up a song on one of the CDs Ruby had rated highly. 

“Hey,” Yang says, standing at the door. “Since you’re such a radio expert why don’t you show me how it’s done before I go. With your intro?”

Her violet eyes flash with a challenge. Blake bites her lip, her own eyes narrowing as she considers.

“Okay.”

She puts on the headphones and pulls the mic down from where Yang had left it before realizing too late that she has no idea what she’ll say to kick off her show. She hadn’t considered it at all—she’d been too distracted by her conversation with Yang. Yang’s last song is ending, though, so she needs to think fast. She works the faders, takes a deep breath, and finds her voice, deciding split-second on cool, detached minimalism.

“You’re listening to OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. This is Nightshade. I’m Blake. Let’s go.”

Blake starts the first song of her show, mutes her mic, and leans back in the chair, spinning to look back at a stupefied Yang. She pulls the headphones off again and watches Yang expectantly, awaiting her response.

“Damn,” she says at last, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that works for you, but I’ll admit that it really, really works for you.”

“Keep coming back and maybe you’ll pick up on a thing or two,” Blake teases, pleased with herself.

“Oh, I plan on it.”

Blake lets out a short puff of laughter and turns to the keyboard to log the song and artist she’s playing. When she glances up from the monitor she finds Yang still standing at the studio door, her hand resting on the doorknob. She appears frozen there, as though some magical force compels her to stay rooted to the worn studio carpet.

For an absurd moment, Blake feels the urge to ask her if she’d like to stick around for the rest of the hour. But just as the question rises unbidden to her lips, Yang’s phone rings in her pocket, breaking the spell.

“Ah,” she says, pulling it out and looking at the screen. “Ruby. I better go.”

Blake nods, grateful that Ruby’s interruption had prevented her from making a fool of herself. Beneath the gratitude, though, Blake senses a trace of disappointment.

“Yeah. I’ll... I'll see you next week.”

“Same time, same place.” Yang affirms, finally opening the door to leave. “Take it easy, Blake.”

“You too.”

Blake continues to watch the door even after it closes behind the other woman. She sets her elbows on the desk before her and cards her fingers through her hair, thinking. Blake can’t help but like Yang, even though everything about her screams _too much._ Sharing a space with Yang feels like standing next to a blaring subwoofer, even when Yang says nothing at all. Blake imagines that she should feel relief now that Yang’s overwhelming presence has left her orbit, but instead she finds herself aching after Yang’s absence, as if she somehow hadn’t experienced _enough_ of Yang before she walked out the door.

Blake sighs and straightens to transition to the next song. She’s lonely, she knows that much, and sitting in the studio alone after basking in Yang’s overt friendliness brings that loneliness into sharp relief. It hurts, still, even if it’s by her own design.

And for once, the music isn’t helping. Blake’s mouth twists into a frown as the opening notes of the second song, an old favorite, whisper out of the studio speakers. The male vocalist’s voice quavers high and hollow over the moody thrum of an acoustic guitar; it’s so on-the-nose _sad_ that it’s almost painful. Pathetic. Hilarious.

As soon as the thought crosses Blake’s mind, the desire to laugh bubbles up from her chest, rising into her throat. She holds it in her mouth for a moment before succumbing to it, drowning out the doleful wail of the chorus with a peal of mirth.

“Fuck this,” she says, turning down the studio volume and pulling up the list of songs she had planned to play on her laptop. She’s still content with most of her choices, but the playlist could use something a little more upbeat. She reorders the songs on the fly, deleting some and adding in others. When she’s satisfied, she spins around in her chair and moves toward her open backpack, digging through the remainder of the CDs she’d taken out of the station’s library. She pulls out the EP emblazoned with Yang’s blackbird doodle and sets about queuing up her next song.

As she skips to track three, Blake finds that she’s already feeling less alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading this one! i didn't mention in my last round of chapter notes, but this is the first fic i've written in a really long time. it's been great and helpful to hear your thoughts/encouragements! i'm definitely still figuring out the pacing of this, though i have an outline sketched out, so i'll probably adjust the chapter count here soon. and also the rating for future chapters. keep an eye out for that, i guess!
> 
> as always, i'm yangsbandana on twitter and tumblr, too.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i did a bit of an outline adjustment after my last chapter and changed my estimated chapter count and rating accordingly. just something to be aware of! no nsfw in this chapter but like,,,, eventually.

Rain patters against the floor-to-ceiling window panes in the Calavera Library Café on the Wednesday afternoon following Blake’s second show. Blake takes a sip from her tea before making her third attempt to parse a dense paragraph in a text she’s reading for her sociology seminar. After only two sentences she gives up again, leaning against the back of the booth she’s sitting in. Staring resolutely at the ceiling, she fights the tantalizing force pulling her gaze toward a messy blonde bun peaking over the top of the bench three booths away.

She’s been _noticing_ Yang outside the studio lately. Their paths rarely cross in their day-to-day lives on campus, but in the rare instances that they do Blake’s attention becomes as stubborn and insistent as a compass point, hopelessly oriented to Yang. She’d spotted her chatting animatedly in the dining hall with Ruby and Weiss over dinner. She’d watched her on her way back from the gym, carousing with a short redhead who appeared to be made almost entirely out of muscle. And again, half-an-hour ago, she’d tried not to stare as Yang entered the café behind a tall, beautiful woman whose crimson hair spills down her back from a high ponytail.

When Sun had walked in moments later, taking advantage of the open seat across from her, Blake had felt more relieved than annoyed. During her first week at Beacon the admissions office had connected her with Sun, who had transferred from Haven College last semester. Ever since their first perfunctory meeting he had never missed an opportunity to hang out around her. At first Blake found herself rankling at his presence—and sometimes she still does—but she’s begun to appreciate him in small doses. Indeed, earlier she had been grateful for a distraction from the way Yang smirked at the woman beside her, playfully nudging her arm as they waited in line to order.

But Sun’s interruption was ultimately no match for Yang’s magnetic pull. Now, Blake finally loses the battle she’s been waging against herself, her eyes snapping down from the ceiling to fix once again on Yang who is now sliding out of her booth, pulling on a brown bomber jacket over a flattering V-neck.

“Hey, Sun,” Blake whispers, unable to contain herself any longer.

When he looks up from whatever game he’s playing on his phone, Blake makes a gesture for him to move closer, leaning slightly over the table to demonstrate. He follows her lead, brows knit together in confusion.

“Do you know her?” Blake looks pointedly in Yang’s direction and tips her head in an attempt to subtly direct his gaze.

She curses under her breath as Sun turns his whole body around in the booth to look.

“Who? You mean Yang?” he whispers as he turns back to her.

Blake nods, watching as Yang and the woman begin to walk out of the café together. Without warning, Yang turns her head toward Blake and grins, her chin jerking slightly upward in a silent greeting. Blake’s mouth falls open in surprise and embarrassment, but she manages a small wave in response. The other woman says something at Yang’s side, and Yang throws her head back, her buoyant laughter filling the room. The sound lingers after the door swings shut behind the pair, and Blake finds herself yearning to be in on the joke.

Sun is already mid-sentence when Blake realizes that she had tuned him out entirely.

“…asked around to see who could take over my time slot and she answered pretty quick, so that was cool of her,” he finishes, oblivious to her inattention.

She winces apologetically.

“Sorry—I missed the first part of what you said.”

“That’s okay,” he says brightly. “I was just saying that I don’t know her all that well, but she’s been pretty friendly to me whenever I’ve been around her at, like, OZPN parties and concerts and stuff. She also took the time slot I gave up so I could do my show with Neptune. I don’t know too much else, though….” He rubs his chin as he thinks. “She’s Ruby Rose’s older sister, I know that. She pals around a lot with her and Weiss…. Hmm…. Oh! And she’s gay. Neptune tried to ask her out last spring because he’s an idiot and didn’t know. As if she’s not always dancing with girls at parties.”

Blake lifts her tea to her lips with a noncommittal hum, considering this information. She had already guessed that Yang was gay from the way she dresses, the way she carries herself. The way she always seems to be in the presence of beautiful women outside of the studio.

“That makes sense,” she says, setting her tea down on the table.

Sun cocks his head. “What, did she, like, hit on you or something?”

He sounds genuinely curious, no trace of jealousy or accusation in his voice. And yet, Blake bristles at the suggestion.

“No!” The denial springs from Blake’s lips with a little too much force. “Of course not.”

But as Blake says it, she knows that’s not _quite_ true. Yang hadn’t hit on her overtly, but Blake can’t help but think of the glint in Yang’s eyes when she shook Blake’s hand on the night they met. The timbre of Yang’s voice when she complimented her. And then, just a few nights ago, when Yang stood, frozen at the door of the studio, just… looking at her.

Blake’s cheeks warm, and she moves to draw from her drink again in an attempt to cover it.

“Ah, okay!” Sun says breezily. He pauses for a moment. “Is there a reason you’re asking me about her?”

Blake nearly chokes on her tea. The answer comes to her immediately: _I want to know_ everything _there is to know about her._ The bluntness of the thought surprises her even though she knows it to be true. Of course, she can’t say it out loud to Sun, so she takes another long sip to give herself time to think of something reasonable to say.

“Not really,” Blake answers finally. “I just thought you might know her through OZPN. She has the show before mine, and we’ve had some short conversations in passing, but I don’t know much about her. I guess I was just curious. She seems nice. Friendly, like you said.”

Nothing she’s said is untrue, exactly, but as she speaks she feels the same dark, sticky sensation in her chest she gets when she lies.

“How’s your new show with Neptune, though?” Blake asks, hoping that Sun won’t pick up on the tension in her voice.

Sun’s face lights up. “It’s been _awesome_!” he enthuses, his voice loud, overexcited. Other students in the café turn and look at him with reproach, but he plows on. “So! We do this whole thing where people call in and give us a word, right? And we have to think of—“

Blake nods along as he launches into a description of the show’s concept, but after a moment she’s tuning him out again. Her thoughts wander, and the sound of rain against the window pulls her mind outside. She wonders if Yang’s still walking across campus beside the tall woman with crimson hair. Were they sharing an umbrella to protect them from the rain? Was Yang holding her hand to keep her close? Blake shivers at the the thought, feeling as though she’s standing out in the chilly rain herself. She tries to refocus on what Sun is saying, picking up her tea in an attempt to warm herself up. 

When she takes a sip, though, it’s cold too.

—~—

An hour before her show on Friday, Blake sits curled up on her desk chair in her cramped single, swiping restlessly through old pictures on her phone. She’s deleted the vast majority of the photos she had taken during her time at Menagerie U, but there are still a few that she can’t bring herself to part with. Some selfies. A few shots of sunsets glowing red-orange through purple and blue clouds hanging over the ocean. A series of blurry images of a band on a brightly lit stage. Ilia, looking up from a table in a study room with an annoyed expression.

Blake heaves a sigh, navigating out of her photo library and onto a web browser, desperate for a distraction. She looks at the time and thinks of Yang’s show, set to start at any moment now. Her conversation with Sun had done nothing to slake her desire to know more about Yang, though she had so far resisted the urge to peruse Yang’s social media accounts. As much as she’s been tempted, she’s wary of invading Yang’s privacy. It’s a ridiculous thought, she knows—Yang’s accounts are public. Still, the act of scrolling through Yang’s photos and posts strikes Blake as dangerous somehow, as if there might be some kind of consequence to getting caught.

The prospect of listening to Yang’s show shouldn’t bother her in the same way, but it does. She taps onto the OZPN webpage anyway, her hands losing a trace of their usual steadiness. Her heart flutters against her ribcage, which seems to be tightening around her lungs, shallowing out her breaths. She furrows her brow. She can’t place why what she’s about to do feels illicit, almost voyeuristic. Yang had so openly admitted to listening to Blake’s show when they talked a week ago—Blake’s only returning the favor.

Blake wonders if Yang had listened to her show again last week. If she had heard Blake playing the song she had liked from the admittedly average EP.

 _She probably doesn’t even remember the song_ , Blake thinks to herself. _If she was even listening at all._

She shakes her head and pushes the thought away. Gathering her courage, she swallows hard and taps the “Currently Playing” link to start streaming from the station. She checks the time again. It’s only just past nine, so she’s not sure if the song pulsing from her phone’s speakers is the first track of Yang’s show or the last of Velvet’s. Whoever’s playing it, it’s _excellent._ She lets her eyes slide shut as she absorbs the sound, strings playing long, vibrant notes underscored by steady, forceful percussion. A woman’s voice resonates over the instruments, nearly breaking with intensity.

When she senses the song nearing its end, Blake breaks from her reverie and checks the station’s log. She copies the name of the song into a note on her phone and sees with a touch of relief that she’s listening to the final track of Velvet’s show. She hasn’t missed Yang’s intro. She turns up her phone’s volume while Velvet’s song fades. Restless anticipation flickers through her body as the air goes quiet for one second. Two.

“Hey, hey, hey party people!” Yang’s voice rings out, loud and bright from the small speakers. “Thanks for tuning in to OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. You are listening to Total Yangers with me, your host, Yang XL, comin’ at you live this beautiful Friday evening. Hope y’all are out there livin’ it up, whatever that means to you.”

A fond chuckle escapes her lips as she reaches for her headphones. Yang’s intro sounds exactly as Blake had expected it would.

“I’m joined for our first half-hour by OZPN’s fearless leader herself—and _my_ sweet baby sister—DJ Lil’ Red.”

“Hi everyone!” Ruby Rose’s voice chimes over Yang’s before dipping a bit lower, tinged with exasperation. “And I told you, it’s DJ Red Reaper this semester. I’m trying it out.”

“Aww, that’s so _edgy_ ,” Yang laughs. Blake can imagine her nudging Ruby playfully in the ribs. “I love that you’re growing up, but you’ll always be Lil’ Red to me.”

“You could stand to branch out too, you know,” Ruby retorts. “I mean, DJ Yang XL? Not very creative.”

“I think it works great,” Yang pushes back. “The XL part, for example. It’s evocative.”

“Evocative of what? Those are you initials, Yang.”

“True true…” Yang concedes. “But the ladies out there know that it means I have a massive stra—”

“ _Yang!!!”_

“Strategic mind!” Yang corrects, her voice giddy, gleeful. “That’s so _obviously_ what I was about to say. I kicked your butt last time we played _Remnant: The Game_.”

A giggle bubbles up from Blake’s chest as she pictures what Yang’s face must look like right now: lilac eyes sparkling over a wide, shit-eating grin.

Ruby groans. “You’re gonna get the station slapped with a fine one of these days.”

“You have so little faith in me,” Yang sighs. “I know how to toe the line. And bend it. Just a little. It’s what makes all my listeners out there keep coming back for more.”

Blake can almost hear Ruby roll her eyes.

“If you don’t get started with your actual show you’re not going to have any listeners at all, Yang.”

“Okay, okay,” Yang groans, “I guess you have a point.” She clears her throat. “All right, gang, we’re kicking off tonight with an old favorite of our dear old dad’s from back when he was cool. Well. Almost cool.”

Blake catches a hint of Ruby’s laughter before the studio mics go quiet and the sound of heavy drums and chunky power chords blast from her headphones. She winces and rushes to turn down the volume which she’d set slightly too high in anticipation of Yang’s intro. Still, despite the shock to her ears, Blake bobs her head in time with the song. It’s an interesting choice, but she likes it. The lyrics are witty and more than a little angry despite the upbeat tune rolling beneath them. They’re catchy too; Blake surprises herself, singing along as best she can the second time through the chorus. She butchers more than half of the words, but it’s worth it for the catharsis that rumbles through her chest.

Feeling more relaxed now, Blake leans back in the chair and crosses her arms, humming along to the verse. The song slips into the next, and then that song melds into another. The half-hour that follows rushes by her, all energetic beats, sunny guitar riffs, and lyrics that are sometimes clever, sometimes blunt, often both.

And Yang. A small thrill races through her whenever Yang’s voice sounds over the end of a song to announce the tracks she’s just played. Each time there’s a break, she takes a few minutes to discuss the songs with Ruby, just as Blake used to do with Ilia. The sisters work well together, Blake muses. They spend more time joking around than she and Ilia ever did, but they also naturally draw insights out of one another. Blake listens with rapt attention as they spar over who has the best music taste—Yang, Ruby, or their dad, Taiyang—and she laughs when they ultimately agree on their dad’s dog, Zwei.

When Ruby leaves partway through the show Blake sits forward in her seat. She feels nervous for Yang, somehow, unsure of how she will carry the show on her own after leaning so heavily into her banter with Ruby. But the moment Yang’s voice comes back on air Blake realizes with a hint of embarrassment that her vicarious anxiety was entirely misplaced. Yang speaks easily and intelligently about her song-choices. And better still, she jokes and makes herself laugh in a way that never comes across as forced or awkward. She’s just _genuine._ Blake wouldn’t be surprised if Yang actually did have a sizable group of loyal listeners tuning into her show every week; the warmth she exudes in person travels just as effortlessly over the airwaves. Who wouldn’t want to feel that?

As she thinks of that warmth Blake notices a pulling sensation in her chest, as if she’s being drawn in Yang’s direction. She checks the time. It’s twenty minutes before her show is set to start. If she leaves now, she’ll be early again. Automatically she stands and reaches for her jacket. But as she pulls it on over her shoulders, a thought pierces her consciousness, harsh and biting.

 _She’s going to think you’re desperate for attention,_ it says in his voice. _You just like that she’s into you, and she’s going to realize how vain and pathetic you are if you keep being so obvious._

Blake bites her lip. Hard. She knows the thought isn’t true—it’s wrong on multiple levels. Regardless, it’s the voice that seizes her, stops her in her tracks. She sinks back into her seat, finding her phone with trembling hands. She exits out of the OZPN feed, cutting off Yang’s voice mid-sentence.

Blake resents the power his voice still has over her. She hates that it still lives in her head, but she yields to it all the same. It’s been a while since his voice had sounded so loudly in her mind, and it’s sent her reeling. She’d been foolish for thinking it might ever leave her completely. With a shaky sigh, she leans forward to rest her arms and head on her desk, holding back tears even as they burn behind her eyelids. She stays that way for as long as she can, postponing her departure until she’s almost late. Limbs like lead, she stands to gather her things and trudges out of the room.

Blake’s still a little shaken when she arrives in the studio just two minutes before her time slot. Yang’s head jerks up from the station computer as Blake enters, and her face breaks out into a warm, relieved smile. Her expression is so earnest and overwhelming that tears prick at the corners of Blake’s eyes again. As she blinks them away, she feels like she’s staring directly at the sun.

“You’re here!” Yang springs from her seat as she greets her, planting her palms on the desk and leaning toward Blake. “I was worried that you wouldn’t show and that I’d have to put on automation. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Blake replies, her tone distant as she tries to quash the waver in her voice. “And I’m not _that_ late. It’s not quite ten yet, right?”

“Oh—well,” Yang straightens, sounding a little sheepish. “I guess that’s true. But you’re usually here before I do my sign-off, so I… I guess I just assumed.”

She moves away from the soundboard and grabs her backpack from the floor as Blake maneuvers around the desk to take her place.

“That’s okay,” Blake says, pulling out her laptop and a handful of CDs she’d selected. “Sorry if I made you worry.”

“I wasn’t, like, _worried_ worried,” Yang responds with a nervous laugh. “I just… umm….” She trails off and runs a hand through her hair.

The tense silence between them nearly drowns out the raucous conclusion of Yang’s last track, but Blake catches it just in time. She pulls the headphones on in a fluid motion and finds the faders she needs.

“You are listing to Nightshade on OZPN 96.7 FM Beacon College Radio. This is Blake, here with some songs to help you shake whatever’s haunting you this Friday night.”

Her voice flows from her throat smooth and deep, resonating with a cool confidence that she doesn’t feel. She turns down her mic and increases the volume on the slow, throbbing beat of her first song.

“Oh, that’s another good one,” Yang says from behind her. Blake glances over her shoulder and watches as Yang moves around the desk and toward the door. “You got something haunting you, Blake Belladonna?”

Blake presses her lips together, gaze falling to the floor. “Maybe.”

“Oh yeah?” Yang asks, reaching the door and leaning against it. “Me too. And I’m thinking that maybe it’s something you can help me with.”

Blake looks back up to her, eyebrows raised. The way she says it makes Blake’s heart climb into her throat.

“Oh?”

“Yeah,” Yang continues, her gaze intense. “I’ve got an art history paper due in…” she looks at her wrist as if she’s wearing a watch even though she isn’t. “…one hour and fifty-eight minutes. Think you could play something to pump me up? Help me get through the last two pages or so?”

In spite of herself Blake smiles, her resolve to hold Yang at arm’s-length crumbling.

“I don’t typically do requests…” she starts, her voice finding a playful edge. It’s true, but as she looks into Yangs eyes, she’s tempted to bend her own rules. All of them.

“Well, first time for everything, right?” Yang presses, playfulness matching Blake’s. “Look, we’ll make it fun. I’ll call in when I need it, and I’ll even give you a reward if the song you pick works!”

Blake already knows she’s going to do it but decides to drag the conversation out a little longer, unable to resist Yang’s game. “I don’t know about that,” she demurs. “Listener requests can really disrupt the flow of a show….”

Yang grins now. “Oh come on, Blake Belladonna,” she says, defiant. “You get to pick the song! And in any case, I don’t get the sense that you’re one to back down from a challenge.”

Blake rolls her eyes but relents.

“Fine,” she says. “But the reward better be good.”

“Oh it will be,” Yang replies. “I’m great at gifts. What kinds of things do you like?”

Blake smirks. “I’ll let you figure that out on your own,” she says, challenging Yang right back.

Yang’s grin widens and her eyes shine with delight. “Getting feisty, I see. Okay. You’re on.”

“I’ll see you next week with my reward, _DJ Yang XL,_ ” she teases. “Looking forward to seeing you put that _strategic mind_ to use.”

At that Yang’s eyes go wide, and her jaw drops. Blake knows she’s won.

“You—um… wow…” she mutters, a blush blooming under her freckles. She reaches up to rub the back of her neck as she searches for the words to respond. “You, uh… thanks for tuning in?”

Blake shrugs casually, even as her heart begins to race, thrilled by her admission. “I figured I’d return the favor.” She looks at Yang’s shellshocked expression and decides to be merciful. “It was a lot of fun. I liked it.”

Yang’s face brightens. “Really? I guess I just didn’t think it’d be your kind of thing.”

Blake flashes her a small smile and moves to log her first song and transition into the second. “It’s different from my usual taste, maybe,” she says once she’s completed the transition. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it.”

“That’s fair.” Yang nods, opening the door. She turns back to look at Blake. “Well, have a good show. Remember, you’ll be hearing from me in a bit!”

Blake looks toward the studio’s phone and back to Yang. She nods too. “Got it.”

“Be ready!” Yang calls out as the door closes behind her.

The smile on Blake’s face lingers even after Yang leaves. The voice that had so affected her earlier in the evening feels far away now, the mellow beat of the song she’s playing easily drowning out its echoes.

Blake turns to her laptop, eager to find a song for Yang. She’s just started by clicking into an old playlist Ilia created for their last show when she hears the studio door swing open again.

She whirls around to see Yang, who raises her hands apologetically.

“Just me! Sorry—” she winces, walking hastily around the desk. “I think I left my phone in here.”

Blake turns to the computer and soundboard and spots Yang’s phone immediately, sitting between the monitor and the keyboard. She moves to reach for it but stops as Yang sets her right hand on Blake’s left shoulder, leaning past to take hold of the device. Heat sparks from where Yang’s hand rests against her, and Blake realizes too late that her whole body is kindling. Wildfire roars all-consuming through every part of her, searing beneath her skin.

And she _wants_ to burn.

With one touch, the desire Blake has been holding back from herself breaks through every fragile line she’s drawn to keep safe. Her eyes flicker to her left and Yang is just _there,_ her face inches away, suffocating in its proximity. Blake revels in the electrifying urge to burst from her seat, to push Yang back against the desk, to capture her lips with her own. She wants to do it, she wants to she wants to she _wants._

But the moment passes, and Yang releases Blake’s shoulder with a squeeze.

“Got it,” she says, stepping away. “I’ll be needing this if I’m going to call you later.” 

Blake can only blink at her as she moves back around the desk again. A long moment passes before she realizes she should respond. “Glad you found it then,” she says at last, her voice hoarse. She clears her throat. “Um… good luck on the paper.”

“I’ll get it done,” Yang assures her with a wave. “Talk to you soon.”

“Yeah.”

With that Yang leaves the studio again, leaving Blake alone for a second time. She sits entirely still for a minute before raising a hand to her cheek. It’s hot to the touch.

_Fuck._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oops—more than doubled the length of the fic with one chapter! man this one really took it out of me. hope you enjoyed, though! this fic has gotten bigger in my head since i started, which is a good thing! but yeah. it's a also a little daunting. i'm still really excited to write more of it. as always, i'd love to hear your thoughts. 
> 
> i'm yangsbandana on tumblr and twitter if you want to scream about bumbleby with me.


End file.
